Flights of Fancy
by Bellephont17
Summary: The perfect visit
1. The Deal

Holly had to laugh. It wasn't every day one saw Artemis Fowl II in riding gear, complete with helmet, breeches, and boots, straddling a large brown gelding.

"What?" Artemis demanded, miffed, as he shifted the horse around so he could better face his friend. "I promised Butler I would take up some form of exercise."

"Mainly because the horse does all the work," Holly quipped, activating her wings so that she hovered level with Artemis. "He's a nice animal, though." She patted her small hands on the horse's broad neck and made small sounds in the back of her throat as though she was talking to it.

Artemis cocked his head and lifted one corner of his mouth in a small smile as he watched her. She was so . . . Artemis thought for a second. Cute, he supposed, was the only word for it. Here was one of the Lower Elements Police's most decorated officers – a Neutrino sharpshooter, no less – carrying on a conversation with a horse. The paradox she posed was extremely intriguing.

"What in Frond's name are you staring at?" Holly demanded, eyebrow cocked.

Artemis swallowed and shook his head, realizing too late that he had been allowing his thoughts to run away with him. "Eh . . . sorry," he shook the reins and compensated his weight in the saddle when the horse shifted. "Would you like to see him jump?"

"Jump?" Holly laughed again. "You can't be serious, _you_?"

"Me," Artemis affirmed, trying not to feel too insulted at the fact that Holly thought so lowly of his physical abilities. He slapped the horse gently with the small whip he carried strapped to one hand, and surged off across the makeshift track on the extensive Manor grounds.

Holly, following slightly behind, watched the boy and the horse take the first hedge. She had winced as the animal had launched itself into the air, expecting Artemis to go tumbling or at least flail a bit. When he managed not only to stay in the saddle but to look completely at ease while doing it, Holly had to admit it.

"You're looking good, Fowl," she called.

Artemis grinned tightly to himself as the next jump came up. There was more to this boy than met the eye, human or fairy. Or in Holly's case – both.

After clearing the track flawlessly, he brought the horse around in a tight circle so he could face his levitating friend. "I must admit, I know why you enjoy flying," he said, brushing some hair from his face.

"That's nothing compared to flying," Holly said, smirking. "You were about as slow as a stinkworm feeding on tunnel sludge in comparison."

"Hmm," droned Artemis, tilting his head cockily. "You wouldn't care to lay a wager on that statement, would you, Captain?"

"I make it a point not to make bets with criminal masterminds," Holly joked. "That type of thing never works out."

"Come now," Artemis said smugly. "Don't try to pin it on my record – you know very well I have reformed. But if you are afraid to back up your supposition with something substantial, don't be afraid to say so."

"Fine," Holly said, knowing she had just fallen for one of the biggest psychological tactics in the book. "What do we bet?"

Artemis grinned. "I noticed the extra set of wings you brought along with you."

"My backup – these are already low on juice . . ." Holly raised her eyebrows, the intimation of what he had stated finally sinking in. "Oh no. You can't be serious."

Artemis's grin stretched slightly wider, revealing both incisors. "That's my wager, Captain. If you lose the race, I get to use your spare wing rig."

"_I'm _the flyboy here, Fowl, not you. You'll kill yourself! And then Butler will kill _me_!"

"It's a logical idea, actually," he shrugged. "I know how to operate one in _theory_, I have watched you many times. But I have yet to attempt to operate one myself, and if sometime in one of our next adventures there is a need for me to don a pair of wings, I should know how to maneuver around. Don't you agree?"

"That's not the reason," Holly said, floating past the horse's head to get in his face. "Admit it. You simply want to have fun."

Artemis chuckled. "Very well, you're right. I've been wanting to try it out for a while now. It looks so . . ." he shrugged. "Fun!"

Holly folded her arms. "I don't know . . . What do I get if I win?"

Artemis smirked, anticipating her reaction to his offer. He had noticed her glancing toward the hangar quite a bit over the course of her last few visits. "You get to take the Lear jet out for a spin."

Holly's eyebrow quirked, revealing that her interest was peaked. "Really?"

"On my honor."

"Oh, wonderful. On Artemis Fowl's honor," Holly rolled her eyes. "_That's _reassuring." Then she grinned and stuck out her hand. "You've got yourself a deal, Fowl."


	2. The Race

The starting point was the wall that surrounded the Manor. The finish line was all the way on the other side of the grounds, past the thick belt of trees that separated the manicured grounds from the drop off point where the earth was cut off and sloped away, down into the ocean far below.

"I cannot believe I'm doing this," growled Holly as Artemis mounted up. "What's more, I can't believe you initiated it. This is so juvenile, I can't imagine what it will do to my record. I'll be suspended for recklessness or inaptitude or . . ."

"Would you care to count down?" grunted the boy, settling in his seat and strapping on his helmet.

Holly shut up, and resignedly allowed the thrill of the whole thing to build inside of her. She would probably win this more easily if she was actually into it. "Alright. On your mark."

Artemis slid his feet into the stirrups and propped himself slightly up in the air. Holly activated her wings with a whisper of a rumble from the motor.

"Get set."

Artemis bent low over the horse's withers and readied his whip hand. Holly got down on her hands and knees and bent her body like a sprinter's, getting ready to use the ground as her point of leverage.

"Go."

The horse and rider surged forward while the elf shot ahead of them by several lengths. Artemis had expected this, however, but planned to make up for it as the horse gained speed. Especially downhill. Slapping at the horse's flanks, he urged it forward with shamefully cowboy-ish shouts of "Yah!" and "Gee-yap!" This was no time for upstanding propriety. Artemis's wing ride was at stake, and he wasn't going to lose. Not that he ever had before . . .

Holly heard the horse coming up from behind, the thunder of its hooves rolling over her buzzing engine. "Come on, Foaly," she grunted. "Show me what these wings have got!" With a burst of speed initiated by the movement of both her arms out in front of her like a diver, she left Artemis behind again. The Lear jet's controls already seemed to be in her hands. She had always wanted to know what that clunker could do in the hands of a proper pilot . . .

The top of the hill upon which Fowl Manor had been originally built extended for several kilometers around the Manor itself, forming the manicured gardens that most people saw when visiting, until dropping down into a long sheer dip to the forested grounds below that. This was the portion of the Manor grounds that was not frequented by admiring guests, and was generally forgotten about by everyone except daydreaming real estate agents. Them, and Artemis.

He had spent most of his time riding at the bottom of the hill. So he knew several things about it that would result in an advantage for this race's earthbound participant. He knew that the hill's decline was straight and gradual, very much like the speed ramps cars use when entering a highway. He also knew that his horse was well acquainted with the unseen paths that crisscrossed through the forest and would not get lost in the matrix of tree boles and undergrowth.

Holly was surprised to find herself suddenly following the ground as it dipped downhill. She had noticed that Fowl Manor was on a hill, but the size of it had never struck her for what it was. This was a pretty steep decline. For a minute, she worried. Horses broke their legs on terrain like this. She wanted to win the race, of course, but not at the expense of her friend's safety and his mount's life. She pulled back slightly, glancing over her shoulder.

Just in time to see Artemis's mount come bursting over the crest of the hill and begin its careening descent. The horse shot past Holly, the flurry of muscular legs recklessly gaining speed as she suddenly found herself losing ground to her opponent. "D'Arvit," she cried, and flew after him.

Artemis laughed into the wind that was buffeting his face. This was exhilarating. Never before had he beaten Holly at anything except mental games. And he was certain he was going to win.

The small stretch of forest loomed ahead of them. Holly groaned. This was going to be great. Just great. While she had a lot of practice dodging loitering levitating sprites and stalactites in Haven City, a forest was another matter. And she couldn't simply fly _over _the strip of trees because the rules had been "through" the forest.

She began to feel extremely stupid for allowing Artemis to map out the race course. Of course, this was his home, he would know what was best for him and worst for her. But she had agreed to it, and that made it unavoidably legal. No matter how unfortunate for her and her stupidity.

"I'm sabotaging that wing rig once you're in the air, you pasty-faced Mud weasel," she thought acidly before twisting sideways to enter into the forest between two tall trees.

Artemis ceased steering the animal once they entered the forest. Now all he had to do was keep his hands on the reins and the whip and he'd be out of the forest in no time. Allowing the horse to find its own way, that was the trick. The gelding did a half-canter half-gallop through the thick boles, weaving between them, finding its footing on the slick, leafy ground, crunching through underbrush, making toward the light at the other end of the belt.

Sparing a glance up, Artemis searched the treetops for Holly. He was tempted to feel confident, but suppressed the emotion. She could be shielding, making him think he had won . . . Except they had specifically agreed that she would not shield unless some unforeseen event made it necessary. And Holly, forever the police officer, would not cheat. Would she? After all, the Lear jet was at stake.

Holly thought about shielding, although she knew she had promised she wouldn't. In the end, she decided against it. It was difficult enough maneuvering through this overgrown briar patch without taking shielding vibrations into account. She twisted just in time to miss a tree branch that had been headed toward her face. This would have been a smart move, had she not twisted right into the top of a smaller tree.

Her suit stopped her from getting many scratches, but the clawing matrix of slender sticks and thick, clinging leaves were more than sufficient to keep her entangled there for several precious seconds as she tried to free herself.

Artemis sat in the grass, waiting outside the forest for his opponent to appear. The reveling in victory had long gone and concern was beginning to take its place. He'd been waiting half an hour for Holly, and she hadn't shown up. Had she gotten lost? The forest wasn't very wide, but it stretched all the way around the hill. She could have gone in the wrong direction.

He stood up and glanced guiltily down at the communicator ring on his finger. Should he call her? He didn't want to sound as though he were rubbing it in. Maybe this whole race thing hadn't been such a . . .

"Gaaaaahhhh!" he shouted as something invisible barreled into him and knocked him back into the grass. He fought for a moment with invisible flailing arms before Holly fizzled into the visible spectrum. Her face was ruddy and dripping with sweat and covered with tiny scratches that were quickly being mended by flurries of little sparks. Brambles clung to her suit and a leafy twig stuck out from under her helmet.

"You knew that would happen," she shouted at him. "You knew I'd get lost."

"I did not, I surmised," Artemis objected, still batting away the occasional fist. "Holly, get control of yourself, this tantrum is extremely unprofessional."

Holly subsided, opting instead to sit on his stomach and frown at him. "I'm not amused, Artemis."

"Sorry," he said honestly.

Holly's lips quirked as a chuckle rumbled in the back of her throat. She slapped him across the forehead and clambered off of him. "Don't worry," she said, grinning evilly. "You'll pay for it. Tomorrow. In the air. Now, are you going to let me ride back with you? I'm exhausted."

"Of course," Artemis said, rolling stiffly to his feet. "You know me, Holly. Always the gentleman." He dodged a kick on the way to his grazing mount.


	3. The Flight

The next day, Artemis restrained from waking Holly up early. He did not want to appear giddy, but the truth was, he was as excited as a little kid on Christmas morning. Not that he needed to let Holly know that. So he indulged himself in a cup of self-prepared cappuccino and a book while Holly showered and got ready for the day.

When she came down the curved staircase lugging the extra wing rig over one shoulder, Artemis feigned composure, stopping himself from tossing the book over his shoulder and springing from the chair. He closed it gently, took a last sip of his coffee, and stood. "All ready, I presume?"

Holly took one look into his eyes and grinned. "Alright, Fowl, just let it out."

"I don't under . . ."

"I'm an elf, remember? Sensitivity to emotion is one of my family's strongest attributes. I can tell excitement when I see it," she winked and unslung the spare wings from her shoulder. "Here, take this. Least you can do is carry your own wings."

Artemis shrugged off her discernment and his fake nonchalance, darting forward and picking up the oddly light contraption that looked very much like a metal knapsack. Slinging his arm through one of the shoulder straps, he hefted it and trotted to the front door.

"After you," he held the door for his elfin companion, who treated him to a grimace.

"You know, all that sexism stuff is so disgusting," she grunted. "Women are equally as capable of opening doors as men are."

"I suppose chivalry is dead," Artemis shrugged, but made a mental note to remember this for future reference. Holly had made a fatal mistake in revealing her pet peeve to Artemis Fowl. She would find out about this mistake when he held the dining room chair for her later that evening.

The Manor grounds were beautiful in the early morning. The two friends struck off toward the gardens, but Holly stopped while they were relatively close to the house. "I'm not very sure you're going to be able to handle these controls," she explained when Artemis gave her a quizzical look. "And I don't want you accidentally drifting out to sea." She waved her hands at the sheer cliffs beyond the belt of trees.

"I see," Artemis raised his eyebrow. "I'm sure you'll find I am a little more coordinated than you give me credit for. Yesterday should have proven that to you."

Holly gave him a dour look. "Don't talk to me about _yesterday_."

"I said you could still try out the jet," Artemis argued.

"If I live through this morning," Holly grimaced. "Here, turn around, I'm going to strap you up. Get your arm in there. Turn around. Hands out of the way." She barked orders like Artemis was some low-ranking cadet. He bore it all with a bemused smile. While Holly fastened the various buckles and clips across his torso, he concentrated on the feeling of the ground beneath his feet. A feeling that would soon be replaced by one of weightlessness.

When she was finished, the elf stepped back and surveyed him. "It's a little tight," she noted. "I let it all out as much as possible. Frond, Artemis, I don't know if this is such a good idea."

Artemis waved her objections away with a flick of his fingers. "I'm a genius, Holly. Every idea I have is, by default, a good idea. Now, how do I control this thing?"

Holly chose to ignore that particularly narcissistic comment and proceed directly with the instructions. "Well, unlike my wing rig – which is attached to my suit – this is a pair of Dragonflies. Manual operation. You tug this cord, it starts the engine. Three revs ought to do the trick. Once you're in the air, you simply tilt your body left or right to steer. That button on your crosspiece –" She pointed to the gray button on the metal band that crossed around Artemis's chest, " – is for reverse. I wouldn't recommend using it, it's hard enough to fly going frontwards. Oh, and the knob right next to it is for speed. Like volume on a remote control. I'd recommend a low setting this time round."

Artemis raised his eyebrow.

"Archaic, I know," Holly sighed. "But hey, a budget is a budget. And I never promised you'd solo on a Hummingbird Doubledex."

Artemis nodded, reaching for the cord. Holly snatched his wrist before he could pull it and yanked him down to her level. "Do _not _pull that cord while you're in the air, you understand me? That cuts the power, you go splat, and I get pounded by your bodyguard."

"I'm not a complete moron," Artemis reassured her. "Three tugs, you say?"

Not completely reassured, Holly nodded and stepped back and folded her arms. "Just don't throw up," she grunted, trying to conceal her worry. "Watch out for birds."

Artemis reached over his shoulder and grabbed the cord's rubber grip, giving it a tug. The engine coughed. A second tug, and the motor grumbled a complaint at having been woken from its stupor. On the third tug, it roared to life, rumbling against Artemis's back and vibrating his ribcage. The wings shot out from their slots, two blades of tough polymer strutted with flexible wire rods.

A gasp escaped his lips as he felt himself being lifted up into the air with a speed he wouldn't have granted the clunky machinery. Suddenly, he no longer felt the ground beneath him. Gravity itself was being defied.

"Level out!" shouted Holly, zipping after him. "Fowl, you idiot, level out or you'll keep rising!"

Artemis realized with an unnerving shock that he had not stopped ascending. Level out? Holly grabbed his legs and pulled them behind him until he was lying on his stomach on the air, horizontal to the ground far below. Oh. So that was how to level out. Thank you, Holly.

The moment he was in the right position, the wings propelled him forward over the grounds. He glanced down and saw his shadow – his _winged _shadow – on the green earth far below. Too far below. He swallowed.

"Holly!" he called, the wind making it difficult to push his words out.

"What is it!" Holly appeared beside him, looking at ease and natural, pillowed on nothingness, flowing along with the air currents.

"How do you lose altitude?"

"The lever!" She mimed flicking a little lever up and down to the right of her chest, then pointed to his crosspiece. He glanced down and caught sight of the tiny silver lever. He flicked it down and immediately dropped several meters. Much to both their consternation. Artemis lifted the lever back up slightly and it halted his descent.

After several disorienting minutes, he found himself at a comfortable level. Once the shock of no longer being bound by the laws of nature wore off, it was actually quite an enjoyable experience, Artemis thought, glancing over at Holly, who was cruising beside him. _Very enjoyable._

"You feeling okay?" she called.

"Fine," he said confidently.

"Good. Now try turning." She twisted her body lazily to the left and began gliding away from him.

Artemis kicked his way into a leftward-facing position and took off after her. It was very much like swimming, he mused. The fact that he had never been a particularly good swimmer didn't offer much confidence, though.

"Great!" Holly beamed once he had caught up to her. "Now let's go right."

They turned right, in sync this time, both bending their bodies sideways and leveling off at a controlled pace. "That's it, Fowl, nice and tight," Holly coached him.

Suddenly deciding that he needed to make the most of this opportunity, Artemis turned the speed dial and felt the engine purr into a higher register as the wings began to flutter more violently. He shot off to the left, leaving a distressed Holly in his wake.

"Artemis, that's too fast . . . not so . . . _Artemis, you're going too fast!_" she shouted in alarm, diving after him as he swooped toward the belt of trees and the ocean beyond it. "_Not over the ocean, D'Arvit!_"

Her shouted objections, however, were lost upon the boy, who was wrapped up in euphoria. He spread his arms out and let the wind ripple his shirt sleeves and his hair. Generally he would have thought and weighed the consequences before taking such a belligerently rebellious action and deserting the planned course of action, but being in the air did something to him, robbed him of all his calculating abilities and made him drunk with pleasure.

And being drunk often has consequences, whether it's getting pulled over by a cop or doing something you don't remember in the morning. In Artemis's case, "consequences" came in the form of a flock of geese. Flying right towards him.

They slammed into him, honking indignantly, knocking him violently off kilter. Spinning wildly out of control, the boy clenched his teeth as he was borne forever closer to the edge of the cliffs. Finally, he managed to level himself out, but he found he was gradually losing altitude and was listing badly. He could only assume one of his wings had been injured by the birds.

Suddenly, the earth dropped away from beneath him, his shadow disappeared, and he was over the ocean. Artemis swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. Descent would be no good now. Where was Holly? He flicked the lever up, trying to gain some height, but controls only really work when everything is functioning properly.

The air currents were stronger out here, Artemis could feel them pulling and tugging at him, threatening to flip him over onto his back or dash him against the side of the cliffs. He struggled to hold his own, pretending he was once again in the saddle, compensating for balance by tilting his body this way and that.

It did no good. A particularly angry current of air slammed into his legs, flinging them up into the air, pitching him upside down so he was now in steep decline, heading for the surging surface of the water in freefall aided by the wings.

Holly had been hanging back, just beyond helping range, letting him get a taste of his own medicine. It served him right for trying to be so cavalier about all this. She'd just let him panic a bit to teach him a lesson and then she'd go over and give him a hand . . . And then an air current flipped him head first and he began an extremely rapid and unforeseen descent that promised a messy landing. Holly abandoned her frustrated teacher mode and darted after him.

The ocean was cold. Artemis had always known this to be scientific fact. However, there is a great deal of difference between reading things in books and then experiencing them firsthand. The ocean _was _cold. Artemis plunged into the icy, briny water, immediately enveloped by a freezing, smothering fist.

If he had expected to come to a stop once he was in the water, he was proven mistaken. Even wing rig models as archaic as the Dragonflies were designed to be waterproof. Therefore, they kept working despite the wet and the water pressure, propelling him farther down.

The cord.

Artemis, feeling the water seeping through his tightly closed lips and into his mouth, felt around his shoulder for the cord. He was surprised when not a cord but fingers met his own, and he was pulled upward.

Holly yanked on his cord, killing the motor before it could propel him any further into the Atlantic depths. The cold soaked through her supposedly cold-resistant suit, chilling her to the bone. _Gods_, she thought as she gripped his pale, groping hand and hoisted him upward toward the surface, _this is the last time I make any bets with Artemis Fowl. _


	4. The Story

Butler was nervous. More than nervous. Artemis and Holly had disappeared. They were gone. He had checked both their rooms, the dining area, the living area, the gardens. He had gone inside again, running his hands over his shaved head and muttering foreign prayers, debating whether or not to call Artemis's parents.

So it was understandably relieving when the front door opened and the human and the elf fell into the foyer. They were both soaking wet, but at least they were alive.

"Artemis, what happened?" Butler demanded of his principal, who was lurching for a chair.

Artemis sank down into it, teeth chattering and knees shaking. He didn't say anything, only pointedly looked at the puddle he was creating around the carven legs of the antique Queen Anne chair. Butler took the hint. "I'll go get some towels," he said. "But when I get back, I want the whole story."

Holly snapped her head around to glare at Artemis the moment the manservant disappeared. "I told you you'd pay for it."

Artemis attempted a chuckle but it ended in a shiver. "My apologies, Captain."

"Apologies aren't going to help me now," Holly told him angrily. "What in Frond's name am I going to tell Butler?"

"The whole story, like I said," Butler growled, returning with the towels. "I want everything that happened, Holly."

With a final glare at Artemis, Holly sighed and began her story: She had had to laugh. It wasn't every day one saw Artemis Fowl II in riding gear, complete with helmet, breeches, and boots, straddling a large brown gelding . . .


End file.
